Likely, the hag had never ventured so far from her nest before. Having gotten used to feeding on the trolls and mountain goats, she probably had no idea Roon was even there. And that's the way it had to stay.
Reflexively, Kro urged the silver mare around another of the giant's teeth. This one was almost a foot high and pointed in his general direction. Once clear, he raised the horn to his lips and once again blew as hard as he could. Was it working? Was the witch going to follow the sounds, or had she taken her fill for the day and retreated to the high veld?
Suddenly, the sky was split by three loud barks that echoed and rolled over the Low Veld. Kro turned to see the front half of an enormous serpent looming above the hill's crest. Wasting no time, the witchwyrm scrambled down the slope all frenzy and rage. She moved on four legs, and she did so alone. Of Mannis Morgrig or his remaining men, there was no sign.
A surge of victory pounded in Kro's chest as he sounded the horn one more time for good measure. Looking ahead, he began mapping out the safest path through the treacherous field, but the sound of hoofbeats prickled his attention. The alchemist turned, expecting to see Belmorn and the girl. But instead, Kro saw that a strange man was racing straight for him at a harsh angle. The rider was one of Morgrig's--the one with the plague mask and long ropes for hair. He was coming fast and with an ugly sword raised above his head.
There came a downward flash of steel, but Kro had just enough time to lean hard and veer his mare to safety. The attack didn't miss by much. Gritting his teeth, Kro drew the Maldaavan blade from its red and gold scabbard. "Are you insane?" he demanded in naked outrage.
The masked rider shifted his head into a new angle. For a long moment, circular eyes of glass and darkness just stared. Then, the man's weapon answered for him.
A sparking clang resounded. The impact travelled down Kro's arm as Maldaavan steel bit into the crude, elongated butcher's tool. Another barrage of clashes immediately followed, resulting in both men pulling back their weapons for a moment of rest.
Somehow, Kro could feel it. The red sword wanted more of that. Not the rest, but the impacts, the cold bite of steel on steel. After so many years of disuse, it had worked up something of a thirst.
Giant's teeth, now almost three feet high zipped past on either side. After checking the rocks and judging that he was no more than a half mile from the tree line, Kro sneered. He turned back to face his enemy, but the masked rider was no longer there.
Panic rising, Kro's head darted from right to left and that's when he realized what had happened. In the few seconds it had taken to look away, the rider must have dropped back before pushing his pale horse into an attack from the other side.
Kro swung his sword around, but the angle was bad. The cleaver's force drove the Maldaavan blade into the tanned hide of Kro's saddle--slicing free one of the saddlebag's straps. The bag swung wide, spilling one of the remaining Bàozhú crosses.
"Stop!" Kro bellowed. "That thing back there... it has our scent! It's coming... for all of us!"
The masked rider swung his beaked face toward the man at his side and finally spoke. "The snake mother comes." His deep voice had a strange accent. "Nothing... can stop her. But she can't have... you."
Kro's eyes shot wide. Did he know this man? Or was he just so bent on revenge for what had happened at Morgrig's camp?
Kro looked away from the dirty mask, the ropes of heavy, black hair that cracked like whips with every undulation of the pale horse's gallop. Then, staring intently at the approaching trees, he drove his mare away from the last survivor of the Red Wolf's pack.
Calling from behind, the masked rider was shouting. His words resounded like the hits of a bass drum over the breakneck gallop.
"Today... is a day of reckoning, Mister Kro. For settling old debts. Fifteen years. I have thought of nothing. Nothing but this moment!" He released a stream of unhinged laughter. "All my searching. My patience. What I have become. It has all been... for you!"
Kro's mind reeled. He clenched tighter the handle of his thirsty, red blade, wondering how this person knew his damned name. For that was not a thing he gave out lightly.
"Ha!" The masked man lashed out again, but his eyes were not on the road. The cleaver swung out just as the pair came upon a huge giant's tooth. The stone passed between the two riders, but at the worst possible moment. The ugly squared-off sword connected with stone and was sent spinning back through the air behind them.
Kro wrenched his head around, taking in what he could. Enough to make sure the heavy weapon didn't hit Belmorn. Fortunately, the riverman was almost twenty feet back. And about a quarter mile farther off, the witch was still coming. Still moving down the hill in a strange slithering gallop, and going much faster that the tired Adamandray.
11 - 3
After a quick appraisal of the immediate landscape, Kro reined the mare into a tight barrel around one of the slanted rocks. Then, leaning in, he took off in the opposite direction--straight for the blackfoot.
Reflexively, the masked rider whipped his horse into a fast turnaround but Kro had managed to put a bit of space between them. Through fleeting glances, he saw the man produce a second cleaver sword. Like its twin, the preposterously large weapon was a tool of destruction that favored brutality and force, but an ill-conceived choice for mounted combat.
Riding the faster horse, the masked man caught up quickly and wasted no time getting back to business. In answer, Kro's Maldaavan blade swung out in a perfectly balanced arc, deflecting the blow in line with the strike's momentum. It was just enough force and in just the right direction to create an opening.
The rust-colored edge split both air and flesh--slicing away the wrappings that covered the man's upper arm. A stream of red sputtered, then gushed--falling like red rain that steamed when it hit the snow.
Somehow, despite a deep wound that looked to Kro like a mouth, vomiting blood. His attacker managed to hold onto the second of his cleaver blades. And after shifting it to his other hand, the man put his relentlessness on full display.
"Mister Kro!" He bellowed, pushing his pale horse to catch up with the silver mare. "Can't get away, Mister Kro!"
As the distance between Kro and Belmorn shrunk to nothing, a look of understanding passed between the two men. Leaning into his horse, Kro put his trust in the man he hardly knew--thundering right past him with full confidence, and a madman on his heels.
The masked rider behaved exactly as Kro had expected. Devouring the mare's footsteps as he came--both glassy eyes focused on one thing in all the world.
"Oh Mister Kro-o-o-o..."
KUNNGG!
The flat, hammer-end of a Graelian axe appeared out of nowhere and connected squarely with the rider's face. The beak crumpled into the headspace as a limp form tumbled from the saddle. The man hit the ground hard and did not get up--coming to rest beside one of the larger stones which Kro had called giant's teeth.
The pale horse ran wild. Panic-blind, it headed straight toward the monstrous thing lumbering across the rock-laden expanse. And though he felt a momentary pang of regret, Tenebrus Kro knew the horse's sacrifice would grant him and blackfoot precious time.
The adamandray appeared, though neither of its riders looked pleased.
"A friend of yours?"
"Hard to say... the face isn't ringing a bell." Kro shot another quick glance at the masked maniac. "Hey Belmorn, maybe it's safer if we stick together from now on, eh?"
"Yeah? Safer for who?" Belmorn turned to the girl. "Rivka. You okay back there?"
Kro's heart thrummed. He couldn't hear the girl's response but noted her overwide eyes, and near bloodless complexion. Barely keeping himself from looking back, Kro began to shout.
"Rivka!"
"Yeah!" She shouted back. "I'm okay."
"Good. Keep your eyes on me. "Okay? Just me."
Stiffly, the girl straightened her body and nodded, though she kept one hand on the hilt of the dagger he'd given her.
Rivka Pesch h
ad never actually seen the witch. Whatever she had expected, whatever nightmarish visions had plagued her dreams these past seven years... Every imagining fell laughably short of the reality.
As she forced herself to look away, she noticed Kro's sword. He pointed with it toward the trees, and when he drew it back, the slick blood on the blade was nearly gone--almost as if the red steel drank it in.
Rivka tried to recall what he'd said about the weapon, but her mind was spinning. Cycling through images of a monster currently devouring their trail. To keep herself from looking back, she tried harder to remember what Kro had said about his sword.
Something about the spit of giant bats. About it being thirsty.
Now that she wasn't twisting back in the saddle, heat from Rander's back drew prickles to her right hand. Surprised at the sensation she looked down to see that her fingers were still wrapped around the dagger's handle. The spikes of hot and cold made her flex her hand, but not totally release the weapon.
If there were any Gods left up there, they knew why she wanted to use that knife. To stand and feel powerful instead of like the dirt on someone else's heel. And squeezing that handle made it possible to imagine the world around bending as she passed it by. It was just a knife, but in many ways, it felt like everything she had ever needed.
No--that wasn't quite right.
The girl pressed her face into Rander Belmorn's back. The stranger had shown more regard for her than anyone in Roon ever had. Warmth flushed into her face, and for the briefest of moments, she gave herself over to the feeling. To the idea of being... what was the opposite of lost?
Found. Her brain wanted to say, but somehow, that didn't seem right either.
11 - 4
As they followed the tree line, steam was billowing off the necks of both horses, as froth dripped from their mouths. Tenebrus Kro had begun to systematically look into the woods, which were now barely twenty feet to the right. Every few seconds, checking and rechecking. Clearly the man was looking for something.
"What--?" Belmorn began. "Are you looking for?"
The witchwyrm's wail and its barks, echoed from behind. Not for the first time, the sounds made the horses tense up. Their eyes bulge with fear.
"I think she's slowing down," said Kro. "Doubt she's used to working so hard for her supper. We can slow down for the horse's sake, but we need to keep one eye behind us."
"I can do it," shouted Rivka. Much to Kro's dismay, she was already looking at the witchwyrm.
"I said, eyes on me!"
"You did." Rivka shrugged. "But I want to help. Let me!"
"Watch her then," Belmorn nodded. "Kro, I asked you...?"
"What am I looking for?" Kro sighed, checking once again between the trees before looking up. The sun had returned, at least, melting some of the snow and giving a clearer sense of direction. "Something. It should be here somewhere."
"Should?!" Belmorn roared.
"Please, just trust me. We just need her to keep following us. Following me, anyway."
"To what end?" Belmorn steered Magnus around two more of the slanted rocks. "What the hell are we doing?"
At last Kro finally said, "Morgrig's camp. I was there. I could smell--could practically see the lower veld through the trees. It's here somewhere, I know it is. If we can just find it, there is something there that might be of some use. Something I left behind."
Just then, something dark caught Kro's eye--pulled it to a spot maybe seventy feet up ahead. It wasn't a rock, nor any one object but a collection of many. The discarded pile of random things was in full juxtaposition against the serene, otherwise untouched landscape. Discarded crates and empty bags, saddles, old boots and bones from a hundred meals--all of this and more spilled out of the trees from a single spot.
"Mr. Kro?" Rivka sounded closer to excited than scared. "She's moving fast again!"
"Good! Let her catch up!" Kro was shouting--pointing to the refuse that was spilling out of the woods. "Look! Right there! Morgrig, you son of a bitch! I knew it! He's left us a trail right to his front door!"
Another wail filled their ears as Kro stared back at the monster behind them. The sound had a distinct effect on the witchwyrm which the companions now witnessed. The thing shook its head like a wet dog. Then barking just once, the beast renewed her speed.
"Come on," Roared Kro, urging the silver mare back into a run. "Still Hungry? Still Ugly? Come get me, you fucking hag! I'm right here!"
Turning his silver mare, Kro entered the woods at the exact spot of the refuse pile. His blood was up. His hands ready. Looking back, he saw Belmorn and Rivka enter the forest too and another pang twisted at his heart. However unwise his new plan was, he did not have to see it through alone.
Once in the forest they did not have far to go. The bandit's garbage led to a clearing with tents and crates and the bodies of many men on the ground. Some completely encased in what looked like thorny green ropes. In all, the site looked to have been host to a fierce battle.
"This is it!" Kro shouted, drawing his red blade. "Steer clear of the center and stick to the perimeter! Hear me?"
Instinctively, Belmorn glanced to the middle of the ruined camp. In a circle of stones--what looked to be to spot for a campfire, loomed a large green mass. Shapeless and yet seemingly hunched over, he could see that the thing was connected to many of the strewn bodies via long vines.
Suddenly the eyes of the blackfoot went wide as the scene of he and Kro's dramatic introduction replayed in his mind.
"Hold on to me, kid." Belmorn felt the tiny arms squeeze his waist a little harder as he pushed the adamandray to follow. On command, the gigantic horse crashed over a trampled canvas that had once been a tent.
"Kro, you crazy son of a bitch," Growled Belmorn, too low for anyone to hear. Finally, he understood. Not only why they were here but what Kro planned to do.
The blaring howl of Morgrig's horn was deafening in the tight space. The sound of it left Belmorn's ears ringing. He didn't need to look to know the witch was close. Didn't need to watch as the moving brush behind him parted--giving birth to a horrendous thing. A patchwork creature. An amalgam of serpent and scorpion--all silver and black and hissing rage. He didn't need to see that. Not with the latest round of her barks still echoing off the walls of his stomach.
Shit. Thought Belmorn, after looking back anyway.
Kro had claimed this was Morgrig's camp, but what in Rinh's name could have happened here? The mystery tugged at Belmorn's curiosity but evaporated the moment his eyes returned to the camp's center.
If the mass had been hunched over before, now it was standing. Twenty foot high at least--twisted and covered in thorns, like some distant cousin of the wall they just left behind. Belmorn couldn't look away until a sliver of red caught his eye. Bright and proud, the color was incredibly out of place. A flower. Something like a rose with hairy structures coming out of the center. It was enormous--five feet across at least. Both inexplicable and beautiful, it was nestled amongst a series of green pod-like masses, each roughly the size of a man. Somehow, though the idea was utterly preposterous, the abominable rose looked content.
"Stay as far away from that as you can!" shouted Kro. "And watch those creepers on the ground!" He produced a bit of flint and, with a single attempt, sparked the fuse of the last Bàozhú cross. "Heads down!"
Belmorn and Rivka complied in unison--ducking as the cross was hurled overhead. Spinning, tumbling it sliced through the air, straight for the pursuing witchwyrm. Then, in mid-air, the cross ignited, spewing geysers of light and pain from each of its four ends, propelling it ever faster towards its target.
Ember-green eyes flashed with recognition. With a squeal, the beast planted a huge three-toed foot, turned in place, and swung its mismatched scorpion appendage like a flail.
The screaming cross was smashed with perfect accuracy and sent in a new direction with the approximate force of a cannonball. With a cracking burst of snow and splinters, the last Bàozhú cross was emb
edded into the trunk of a nearby tree, where it proceeded to shriek and spit until its impotent rage was spent.
For Belmorn's part, he couldn't believe the tree hadn't caught on fire.
The witchwyrm approached slowly to investigate the threads of smoke oozing from the cross' exposed ends. As it moved, its neck was postured in a reverse swan. The wedge-shaped head twitched to one side, curved fangs bared and ready. Once satisfied that the thing in the tree could do no further harm, the witch swung round to relocate its quarry.
By this time, the horses had reached the far side of the clearing. Though both animals pawed and stomped, the riders kept them steady. The head of the witchwyrm flicked into a new angle. Down came one powerful foot, then the other. The thing's prodigious bulk slithered and re-adjusted as its primeval mind was slowly made up.
"I'm right here!" The voice of the alchemist was ragged as he stood, shouting in his saddle. "What are you waiting for?"
Earlier, Kro had alluded to the fact that this plan wasn't a very good one; now Belmorn was fully questioning the man's sanity. But there was nothing to be done. The horses were spent and there could be no fighting such a beast. Could there? Rander Belmorn had fought living nightmares before, but this was different. There was no water rushing beneath him here. No river spirit to guide his hands.
Turning in his saddle, the blackfoot did the only thing he could to change the situation at least a little. Looking into the girl's frightened eyes, he wrapped an arm around her and squeezed. Rivka hiccoughed in surprise. Then she released a series of choked sobs. After holding herself tense for another moment, she decided to let it all go. Her muscles went slack. A cognizant allowance of her own need to be held and cared for.
"It'll be alright, kid." Belmorn said the words without believing them. Then he looked once more to the biggest flower he had ever laid eyes on. "I think I know what he's got planned here. If it works, we're in for a show."
Mark of the Witchwyrm Page 20